When God made America, God made America great. If Americans were made in God's own image and likeness, then America was made in the image and likeness of Paradise: vast purpled stretches of land! Pouting mountains crouching in tumbled lumps! Lakes, so clear and pure that their surface reflects heaven! Flowers the size of gigantic trees!
When God was quite done making it, after smudging the last imitationed fossil into the rocky midwest substrate with his mighty thumb, God straightened up, dusted his hands, and looked out across America. God saw that it was great. "There's just one thing missing," God thought. "This place needs some Americans."
The first Americans brought in were the ones later called Indians. They were Native, in the sense that within the first couple generations after arrival, most of them were being born here. But God was having a hard time with some of their customs. "It's HOLY Spirit, not Great Spirit! Jesus Christ, do I have to send you down there again?" "Not me, Dad. It's not my time. Besides, I don't mind the crucifiction bit - it's important to the master plan, I know - but these folks don't seem to be the crucifying kind. What good can it possibly do for me to get scalped?" "True enough. You just convert the rest of the world, and then we can send them in for these guys."
Which is pretty much how it happened. But who could have foretold the sad consequences? For as was said of old: the best laid plans of mice and man gang aft agley, and leave us nought but grief and pain for promised joy.
- End of Act I -
No comments:
Post a Comment